The City Boxset

By Kory M. Shrum

This box set contains the novels The City Below (Book 1), The City Within (Book 2), and The City Outside (Book 3).

 

It's 2603 in a post-climate change world.

Commander Grace Buteo protects Zone 2, a prosperous place, thriving in part due to her diligent efforts to guard its citizens against cyber-attacks, identity theft, and security threats from the rogue terrorist cells plaguing the outer zones. But when her husband and son are killed in an IED explosion intended for Grace herself, her guilt nearly breaks her.

She throws herself into her work, hoping to renew her sense of purpose and loyalty to the city she loves. She's given the opportunity when a high-profile genetic engineering company reports the theft of 26 artificial organs. But investigating this theft leads Grace to discover that her city--and her new assistant inspector--may not be as perfect as they seem…

 

A thrilling trilogy about a mother who seeks justice for her husband and son—and what she's willing to pay for it.

 

Praise for The City Below

★★★★★ "…a fascinating world and a compelling story."

★★★★★ "a fast-paced novel that is a fun read!"

★★★★★  "Very original."

★★★★★  "Another winning series!"

★★★★★  "One enticing mystery evolves into another and another…Heads will roll."

★★★★★ "Entertaining futuristic read…creatively written with interesting and unique characters."

★★★★★ "Future fiction done right."

★★★★★ "An excellent plot, and very engaging characters. I can't wait to read the next book…"

★★★★★ "Heart wrenching and thrilling."

★★★★★ "I couldn't put this down even tho I needed sleep."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kory M. Shrum
• Release date: Nov 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781949577914

Kory M. Shrum

Kory M. Shrum is author of the bestselling Shadows in the Water and Dying for a Living series, as well as several other novels. She has loved books and words all her life. She reads almost every genre you can think of, but when she writes, she writes science fiction, fantasy, and thrillers, or often something that’s all of the above.In 2020, she launched a true crime podcast “Who Killed My Mother?”, sharing the true story of her mother’s tragic death. You can listen for free on YouTube or your favorite podcast app. She also publishes poetry under the name K.B. Marie.When not writing, eating, reading, or indulging in her true calling as a stay-at-home dog mom, she can usually be found under thick blankets with snacks. The kettle is almost always on.She lives in Michigan with her equally bookish wife, Kim, and their rescue pug, Charley.Learn more at www.korymshrum.com where you can sign up for her newsletter and receive free, exclusive ebooks.

Book preview

The City Boxset

The City Boxset

Three 2603 Novels

Kory M. Shrum

Contents

An Exclusive Offer For You

The City Below

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

The City Within

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Part II

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

The City Outside

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

Thank you!

Preview of Shadows in the Water

Also by Kory M. Shrum

About the Author

An Exclusive Offer For You

Connecting with my readers is the best part of my job as a writer. One way that I like to connect is by sending 2-3 newsletters a month with a subscribers-only giveaway, free stories from your favorite series, and personal updates (read: pictures of my dog).

When you first sign up for the mailing list, I send you at least three free stories right away.

If giveaways and free stories sound like something you’re interested in, please look for the special offer in the back of this book.

Happy reading,

---

Kory

The City Below

One

Grace Buteo stood before the scanner in the Zone 2 precinct and allowed the machine to verify her biometrics. Arms out in a T, she drew a steady breath and rehearsed for the two hundredth time what she would say to Commander Adams upon seeing him.

The AI beeped, signaling completion of the scan. A light changed from red to green. The sealed door protecting the private sector of the precinct slid open, giving her access to the bio-sealed building.

The precinct bustled inside.

Officers, engaged in the enormity of their work for the zone, scurried like ants through the building. Grace might have reached the commander’s office and their oh eight hundred appointment without fanfare if the scan itself had been the end of the verification process.

But as Grace crossed the threshold between the holding area and its guarded inner chambers, the AI spoke in a sweet, lilting voice. Welcome back, Commander Buteo.

Footsteps faltered. Shuffling papers stilled. Conversations died.

Officer Lore Duchovny stood from his desk and began clapping so hard his dark hair fell forward into his face, half-hiding his set jaw and blazing eyes. But his clapping was soon swallowed by the cacophony of hundreds of hands, coming together over and over again—beating out a terrible rhythm that turned Grace’s stomach to stone.

Don’t . . . please, she begged, feigning a gracious smile. It was hard to do when the right side of her face resisted, the scar tissue tight and unwilling to move.

The applause only worsened, giving way to words. Someone whistled.

Thank you, Commander.

My whole family thanks you, Commander.

"We are so glad you survived, Commander."

"It’s so good to see your face again."

Grace doubted that. The burn scars eating away at her jaw and cheek weren’t pretty to look at, and yet Lore Duchovny gazed at her as if he were looking into the face of an angel.

Hands reached for hers. Others touched her arm or squeezed her shoulder as she tried to push her way through the crowd. She was a saint, who, if touched in passing, would bless the believers.

They have a reason to believe in you, Gray.

Her dead husband’s voice in her head was enough to wind her and turn her stone of a stomach cold.

Somehow, she continued down the line, passed from embrace to embrace, until it was Commander Adams himself before her at his open office door, his own smile bright.

His cheerful gaze faltered when it took in her right cheek, temple, and neck all shriveled above her collar. But he was quick to flick his eyes up to meet hers again.

He ushered her inside the office and closed the doors while the officers outside continued to clap and yip.

Are you all right? he asked. Commander Adams stood more than six feet tall, the black officer uniform tight across his broad shoulders. He was frowning at her. She wasn’t sure what disturbed him—the new scars or her thinly veiled distress.

He seemed to take in her blind panic and the heat collecting in her face. She’d broken out in a sweat along the back of her neck, but hopefully he couldn’t see that. She drew more breath and found her chest unwilling to expand.

I wasn’t expecting such a reception, she admitted and helped herself into the chair opposite his desk. That many people, that many bodies closing in on her—it had weakened her knees. Sitting down allowed her to affect some poise. It . . . surprised me.

Adams put the desk between them by taking the opposite chair. Every person in this precinct owes you their life. The least they can do is show a little gratitude.

The card was enough.

He laughed, clearly surprised. "A card with a thousand signatures and endless praise will never be enough. Throw in a zonewide parade and a plaque, perhaps a statue in your honor, and maybe we’d be approaching proper compensation. But no, what you did was priceless."

That’s ridiculous, she said. A statue? Of her? It wasn’t like she curbed an epidemic or removed all the radiation from the sky. I hope you aren’t serious.

In fact, the funding is already approved.

She could only blink at him.

"Commander Buteo, you stopped the first mass-murder attempt in our zone in centuries. Those terrorists wanted to wipe out all of our officers in a single blow and would’ve succeeded if not for you. Hell, the IED was only six meters from Duchovny’s wife and daughters and he damn well knows it."

There was something funny in the way Adams said the word terrorists. Not unlike fairies or goblins, as if this word were merely make-believe.

But because of you, our officers are safe. Their families are safe. Our city is safe. And everyone knows what you paid for that safety.

What I paid.

The lives of her husband and her son. Her right arm from the elbow down. Half of her face.

It was the burned scar tissue that Commander Adams kept looking at now, as if that was the worst of it. How could she explain that her loss of beauty could never compare to all the happiness she buried in the Soul Grove?

We’re safe again, and we have you to thank for that. Let the city and its officers have their hero.

I’m not a hero to Davion or Kaiden, she said.

Your loss is . . . unfathomable, he agreed, tapping the surface of his desk. "But just because you couldn’t save two lives, that doesn’t change the fact that you did save thousands upon thousands. The officers’ and their families’, to be sure, but also the lives of our city’s citizens. What would have happened to them if our borders had fallen?"

She barely heard this. She thought, they weren’t just any lives. They were the only two lives that mattered.

Still, I’m getting complaints from the mayor that this event seems to have stalled immigration requests. Hopefully, if we have a couple of quiet months ahead of us, the number of applicants will go back up and he’ll get off our backs.

Grace understood that the lack of crime was one of Zone 2’s most attractive features. But all the centermost zones—Zones 1 through 6—could make such a boast. Violent crime prevailed only in the outermost districts.

Despite the mayor’s concerns that their crime ratings might rise by a mere one percent or even two percent, Grace knew that people would sell everything they owned to have a place here.

Her husband Davion had always told her to be grateful for her job. To be grateful that petty, nonviolent crimes made up the bulk of her work. That her livelihood required creative problem-solving solutions rather than the strong arm of the law. The only real danger to their zone was cybercrime: hacking, thefts, or fraud—and she was trained for all of it.

It’s not like the outer zones, Gray, he’d told her. Where someone will slit your kid’s throat for your last gallon of water.

Yes, she knew what Davion would say about all of this if he’d lived.

That she was lucky. That there were others who would give up their husbands, their children, their face, and both arms just to be able to walk down their streets free.

She understood this, but she didn’t care.

She wanted her family back.

So what do you think? About the statue? I believe they’re considering bronze. Adams waited for her reaction, clearly expecting some outpouring of gratitude or delight.

She’d used most of her energy to pull herself from bed, bathe, and arrive at the precinct on time. What little fight she had left was lost to the mob outside. She couldn’t spare any energy for a diplomatic response.

I think it’s stupid, she said. If it can’t be stopped, I can only hope you’ll put it somewhere I’ll never see it.

It would be less for you than for the people of this city, he said, his excitement deflating. The attack frightened them. They need a visual reminder that they’re safe here. That their zone has a guardian.

He flicked his eyes down, activating his corneal display. His eyes glowed blue. I’ve just received the notice from the hospital saying you can return to work.

I’m fit for duty, she assured him.

He flicked his glowing blue eyes up to meet hers. Do you really feel ninety days is long enough to recover from your personal losses?

Grace used her considerable will to remain calm. Are you referring to the prosthetic arm, the burned face, or the dead family, Adams?

Adams sputtered.

He’d better accept the hospital’s assessment, because the only thing worse than being applauded for an act of heroism she deeply regretted would be going home without the job she’d sacrificed all her happiness for.

All I have left is this job, and I plan to do it. Lucky for me you have no authority to decide whether or not I’m fit to be here. Her voice was cold.

And she spoke truth. He was voted into his post the same as she was. He was her co-commander, with no more power than she had. If he wanted her removed, he’d have a hell of time achieving it.

He bristled and sat up straighter in his seat. Honestly, it’s great to have you back. This precinct needs both of its commanders, especially after last night.

Her heart kicked in her chest. What happened last night?

Not an explosive device, he was quick to add. Just a theft. Viscosity Inc. had over two dozen organs stolen from their South Hanscomb facility. The case came in at oh two hundred.

A public or private building?

Private and fully bio-sealed, he confirmed, leaning his forearms on his desk. His eyes lit with that slight, reflective blue light as his gaze reviewed the details invisible to her. Only those with clearance can enter and exit the facility.

How many had access during the time of theft?

About sixty employees to the organ chambers. Over two hundred were coded for the lab itself. The whole company employs more than twenty thousand people. It’s enormous.

And the biometric system detected nothing?

There’s a lot of data to sift through. It will be a time-consuming case.

Time is all I have now. She shouldn’t have said this. Such comments would initiate conversations she didn’t want to have.

Grace . . . he began and then seemed to think better of it. When I mentioned that you’d returned from leave, the CEO, Getty Peters, was thrilled and requested you for the investigative assessment. I’ll try not to take it personally.

When a crime was confirmed in the city, it was the commander’s job to complete the initial assessment and determine if the security of the zone had been compromised. That was her utmost responsibility—to keep the zone safe and secured from all threats, inside and out.

Once the assessment was complete, the investigation was dissected and tasks were delegated to the precinct’s inspectors. A commander, after all, was part team leader, part politician. Particularly diplomatic when interzone action with other commanders was needed or tending to the delicate nerves of city officials was required.

She supposed this would be the first of many requests, and she would be the favorite for a while. And why should it matter if she buried herself in work?

Who waited for her at home? No one.

Once you solve this, Adams said, lacing his fingers together, I think the zone will relax. The network breach and explosion frightened the community. With Commander Buteo out in the streets again, asking questions . . . well, it will cheer them up to see you. The moment your name sounds in the Informed Citizen Bulletin— His voice dropped to a comic imitation of a newscaster. "‘Commander Buteo saves the day again’—it will quell the unrest that has built while you were…away."

While she lay in a hospital bed healing third-degree burns and having her arm replaced, he meant.

I’ll get started then.

Adams smiled. I’ll tell them to expect you. While you’re out, I’ll finish up my ninety-day cache. I’ll have it to you by the end of the day so you can be brought up to speed on all that’s happened in your absence. Unless you want me to join you for a verbal debriefing?

I don’t mind working solo, she said. In fact, it might be a blessed reprieve to abandon herself to the job without forcing smiles or combatting kind words. She needed a break from the endless thoughts that circled her mind like buzzards.

Oh, you won’t be alone, Adams said.

She frowned. Her face resisted it. I won’t?

Your request for an assistant inspector was approved while you were in the hospital. I oversaw the onboarding myself. Inspector Heron Jane is at your disposal. He’s . . . different.

Grace rose from her seat, declaring the return interview over. I look forward to meeting him.

Wait, Grace. Adams twisted his hands together.

She paused in the doorway and turned back to face him. The gentleness on Adams’s face made her skin crawl.

He was looking at her scars again. I know it will be hard to put what’s happened behind you, but you have to try.

She gestured at the office around her. What do you think I’m trying to do here?

Just try not to torture yourself.

She grasped the door handle and laughed. It was a bitter, sharp sound. Do you know me at all, Adams?

I do, he said, his expression part concern, part fear. And I’ve never known you to let sleeping dogs lie.

Two

Grace crossed the pedestrian walk to the auto stop opposite the precinct. She could have ordered second-level transport and coasted above ground-level traffic as her authority afforded. But a slower commute would give her a chance to compose herself. She’d underestimated how hard it would be to look everyone in the eye and pretend she was okay when she wasn’t.

It hadn’t been the sly glances at her scarred face or their soft, apologetic eyes, both of which she’d prepared herself for. It hadn’t even been the meaningless small talk, which she found exhausting on the best of days.

It had been the admiration she’d found unbearable. Their love dripped with pity.

Her PNS pinged. Your auto will arrive in ninety-three seconds, Commander Buteo.

Have the autos ever run anybody over? Kaiden had asked, his thick curling hair outrageous on the top of his head as he’d blinked gorgeous brown eyes up at her. Specks of sunlight sparked in them. He had her eyes.

They have sensors on all sides, she’d told him. They’ll stop before they hit you.

They go so fast.

They do, but they’re also very good at stopping.

Kaiden. Her chest compressed so suddenly that she reached out and seized the safety rail framing the arrival platform. The pavement danced beneath her and no matter which of the embedded plastic particulates she focused on, she couldn’t undo the knot in her chest.

The auto rolled up to the curb and the door lifted like a swan unfurling its wing to usher her inside.

Welcome, Commander Buteo. Please watch your—

Grace all but threw herself into the dark interior of the auto and the door sealed itself behind her.

We are pleased you’ve chosen CityRide for your transportation needs today, Commander Buteo, the AI chimed. My name is Charity and I will be your driver today. Can I confirm that your destination is Viscosity Incorporated? Three thirty-three Halogen Boulevard?

Yes.

There was a pause as the AI computed the address. That is an eleven-minute ride by level one transport. The rate for this transaction is $24. Confirm order?

Yes.

A ping resonated through the auto’s interior. Your account has been deducted $24 for this transaction. Thank you for choosing CityRide. Safe. Fast. CityRide. We value your business.

The automatic safety harness fastening across her chest didn’t make her breathing any easier. She desperately tried to suck in more air and think of anything but Kaiden.

Kaiden with his soft, wild hair.

Kaiden with his goofy, crooked grin, one of the front teeth only halfway out of its upper gum.

You do not have any music stored on your channels, Commander Buteo. Would you like me to play something for you? I have ‘News’ or ‘Music.’ I also have a large selection of ambient noise such as ‘Thunderstorms’ and . . .

Kaiden with his smart questions that sometimes stunned her into laughing.

Kaiden with his penchant for building and playing piano and his endless requests for a dog—a real one, not a robotic one.

And they were two months from caving and buying it, despite the horrendous fees and taxes.

Kaiden . . .

No.

No music selected. Please let me know if you need any temperature or light adjustments within the cabin—

Nothing, dammit! I don’t need anything! Her voice echoed so loudly in the enclosed space her ears rang. Her heart thrummed hard against her ribs. She could feel the pulse building in her temple, pressure rising.

The AI governing the auto seemed offended by her outburst, responding with cold silence. It was only a voice bot, rattling off a preprogrammed selection of choices for customers. Most likely it was searching for a response that matched her words. And yet, illogically, Grace felt bad for yelling at it.

It occurred to her, not for the first time, that perhaps she was losing her mind. And why not? Hadn’t people broken down for less than the loss of their entire family? Why should she be any different?

Because you’re strong. The most willful and stubborn person I’ve ever met, Davion’s voice replied in her head.

Blessedly, the cabin dimmed and Grace was left in silence with her throbbing temples. She covered her face with her hands.

She tried to focus on anything, anything but Kaiden’s face framed in the passenger’s side window of her auto, mouthing Mom the second before it exploded.

Four wheels were blown off into the balmy night and the whole vehicle lifted six meters off the ground, underbelly in flames.

The blue light of her network responder caught the corner of her eye. Your heart rate and blood pressure are elevated. Run the CALM program?

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Yes.

When you find your emotions suffocating, the prerecorded therapist said, bring your attention to the present moment. To the sensations in your body, and if that is too much, to the area around you. What do you see? What do you smell? Do you feel the energy in your hands?

Her hands were trembling.

Her throat was so tight that her mouth remained open in a silent, strangled cry.

Focus on this moment. What do you see, Grace?

Her eyes darted around the interior of the cabin but could see nothing except light reflected through her tears. She blinked, and the auto came into sharp relief.

Describe what you see. Aloud. Where are you?

I’m in a CityRide auto.

Excellent, Grace. Please continue.

I see the freeway. All the autos. The buildings flying past. I’m sure if this auto ran into a building at full speed, that’d be the end of me.

You are safe now, Grace, it prompted.

She hesitated, her eyes sliding over the vehicles moving in the same direction she was. A sea of white beetles scurrying down the rose-gold boulevards.

What else do you see?

I don’t know.

You’re doing great, Grace. Tell me more.

Uh, mostly there’s plants. Flowers. CO 2 neutralizers.

The pounding in her head lessened. She was able to exhale fully now. Exhaustion pressed in. She’d only been working for an hour and she was already so tired. That didn’t bode well.

Describe something you like about this moment.

I like . . . the electric whine. The sound made it impossible for her to think.

That sounds lovely. Please describe it for me. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it.

Of course you’ve never heard it. You’re a robot.

The program was meant to continue prompting her until her heart rate returned to acceptable levels. Therefore, it was impervious to her insults.

She sighed. The autos have this thin whine as they roll. I don’t know if it’s made by the tires themselves or if it’s the sound of energy going into the auto’s battery.

I’m not sure I understand.

The tires spinning against the road creates kinetic energy. It charges the auto, and any leftover power is sent to the zone’s power grid. Kaiden did a report on it.

Kaiden. Again, that crooked grin and his small hand slipping into hers. So warm.

Fresh tears pricked her eyes.

That sounds lovely, Grace. I see why you enjoy it.

A second-level emergency transport sailed over her, its titanium legs momentarily dimming the interior of her cabin as it passed at three times the speed of the level one transport.

She recognized the red fire department stripe on the carrier’s exterior.

There’s a fire responder passing overhead.

Pick something closer to you. Focus now. Does something beautiful catch your eye?

Grace understood that beautiful or curious things were meant to calm the mind, but as she surveyed the buildings of downtown, she only felt assaulted by the greenery. And not just by the rooftop gardens or flower boxes crowding every window. Every pillar, roadside railing, and sidewalk were covered with endless tendrils.

It was a jungle, hot and humid, pressing in on her. Like a cloth over her mouth and nose.

Pick something else to focus on, Grace.

But the only objects not covered in plant life were the golden solar panels serving as every building’s exterior. They regarded her impassively like large insect eyes.

Is there anything you can appreciate?

A day has only so many hours, she said, and exhaled. I appreciate that.

At last, the knot in her chest loosened. She no longer had to hold the belt away from her as if it were suffocating her.

Your heart rate is within acceptable parameters now. You did great. I’m proud of you, Grace. Before the program is terminated, I would like you to say something with me.

Grace detested this part of the MindCare program. But the snub-nosed therapist at the hospital had insisted that this software be installed into her lenscape before she returned to work. It had been her only stipulation, and Grace had seen no way to refuse her.

Please repeat after me: I am grateful for this moment.

Grace rolled her eyes. I am grateful for this moment.

Perfect. Repeat this as often as you need. Take care of yourself, Grace. Remember, you are loved. You are needed. You are important to us.

Grace threw herself against the auto’s seat and covered her face with her hands.

Loved. Needed. Important.

And the reason why her family was dead.

Three

"We will arrive at your destination in two minutes, Commander Buteo. The temperature outside our cabin is thirty-five degrees Celsius today. Sunny. Today’s air particulate rating is forty-eight. Acceptable. Today’s UV rating is moderate. Protection is highly suggested. Our records indicate that you have not yet listened to today’s Informed Citizen report. Would you like to play it now?"

No, thank you. Grace recognized the large, luminous building up ahead with its flashing sign.

Announcement delayed for four hours.

The auto pulled up to the auto stop adjacent to Viscosity Inc. and its door lifted, revealing a woman and three children waiting to climb in after her.

Enjoy your day, Commander Buteo. And we thank you again for your patronage.

She excused herself, maneuvering around the cluster onto the covered walk. Her eyes kept straying to the ostentatious sign on the front of the Viscosity skyscraper.

Slowly, her ears detected the ripple rolling through the crowd.

Commander Buteo.

Oh Springer, that’s her.

"Her poor face—"

And her son was only—

Someone called after her. Fortunately, unlike in the police precinct, it was easy to hide herself in the crowd.

Whoever wanted to speak with her was swept away by the tide of bodies.

When the pedestrian sign illuminated and the AI commanded WALK, she crossed the wide boulevard toward the building’s large paneled door.

Viscosity. Securing your future.

Please stand on the sensor and be as still as possible, the AI instructed. The small videogram by the front door blinked and flashed in unison with the voice.

The exterior door slid open.

Verified. Welcome to Viscosity, Commander Buteo. Please enter reception for complete scanning.

This was a tedious part of her job. Most city employees had only to deal with the biometric scan of one or two secured buildings in the course of their day. But the precinct and nearly every other building that she visited in her line of work was secured and bio-sealed to one degree or another. She felt like half of her job was simply presenting herself to the network for confirmation.

But they have good reason to be cautious, don’t they? she thought. At present, the precinct was only half secured, the other half open to the public so that officers remained accessible to the constituents they served.

That might change now after the attack.

The unsecured portion of the precinct building was where the first of two IEDs had been hidden: in a storage closet near the center of the precinct, just seven meters from her own office. Had she missed that explosive as well as the second . . .

She pushed down the thoughts before the MindCare program could activate itself again. If she had to spend another second describing the beauty of flowers today, she would lose it.

She assumed the scan position, hands loose at her side, palms open, and legs spread, while the scanner recorded her biometrics and compared them against those stored in the network.

Her ear shape, the veins in her palms, iris and retina recognition, facial recognition. She wondered if the new arm, the replacement they’d created for her in the hospital, would pass this test. The hospital assured her they’d updated her new biometrics in the network, zonewide, to include the new arm. She’d passed the inspection at the precinct, but this felt different.

Please state your name.

Commander Grace Buteo. She hated declaring herself. It was ridiculous. But all network signatures included full titles, and saying something as simple as Grace Buteo might trigger the alarm and delay her entry.

The light changed from red to green. Welcome to Viscosity Inc., Commander. Please check in at the front desk in section A2.

Her lenscape automatically linked with the building’s private server. The network overlaid her reality with a guiding arrow, blinking, showing her where to find the A2 desk as she crossed from the foyer into the receiving area.

Once the reception desk came into view, the arrow transformed into a green checkmark beside a pretty receptionist’s face and disappeared, leaving her field of vision unhindered again.

Without the checkmark, she was able to see the tall man standing at the desk for the first time. He leaned against it, flashing perfect, obviously altered teeth at the woman behind the counter. She laughed riotously, throwing her head back.

Grace stepped up to the counter. Hello.

The pretty receptionist blushed crimson as she met Grace’s eyes. Welcome, Commander Buteo. Thank you so much for coming. We’ve been anxiously awaiting your arrival.

I can tell.

The man’s demeanor changed. The relaxed, roguish posture he’d adopted for the receptionist stiffened. The devilish smile took on a formal grimness, and before Grace understood what was happening, he was brushing his hand against the back of hers.

Her reader accepted his profile share, which provided his name, zone of origin, and current business in the zone.

Commander Buteo, I’m Inspector Jane. Heron Jane.

My assistant? she said, pushing the profile aside.

He flinched at the words. Yes.

I didn’t mean it as an insult, Inspector, she said. She hoped the appropriate honorific helped.

I’m not insulted, he said, the stiffness only worsening as he withdrew his hand. "I am here to assist you."

The pretty receptionist looked down and away as her earpiece lit blue. Then she met Grace’s gaze with a fresh smile. They’re waiting for you in the east laboratory. If you would be so kind as to accept our welcome cache, a map will automatically be downloaded to your lenscape.

Thank you.

Can I do anything else for you? the receptionist asked. She finally let her smile glide toward Heron hopefully.

No, thank you, he said. The formality with which he now regarded her made her pretty eyes flutter, the disappointment obvious.

Grace turned away. She completed the network onboarding and received Viscosity’s welcome cache.

Map, she said. An overview of her position on the ground level appeared in her lenscape, laid seamlessly over her reality.

East laboratory, she requested, and another dutiful green arrow guided her toward the elevators located at the center of the building.

Inspector Jane caught up to her at the elevator doors, stepping in after her.

You wanted this, she reminded herself. To be out in the world, yes. To give her restless mind something to do, absolutely. She’d wanted pure distraction. The peopling part was the price she had to pay for it.

Heron Jane is an unusual name, she said as the doors closed. She tried to ease her shoulders away from her ears. Yet I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere.

My mother was a famous ornithologist, he said simply, his hands in the loose pockets of his pants.

Jane.

She turned and scrutinized him. Dr. Victoria Jane?

He smiled, looking almost amused. That’s the one.

Why didn’t you pursue science? she asked. With your mother, I suspect that no door would’ve been closed to you.

And spend the rest of my life trying to live up to her? He laughed as if this was an old joke he’d grown tired of telling. I could never do her justice.

I’m sure she doesn’t see it that way. Naturally, Grace’s traitorous mind slid toward her own son.

I want to be a commander like you, Mommy. I want to keep the city safe too.

She leaned her weight heavily on the elevator’s wall.

Are you all right? Jane asked. He’d reached out to her and froze, realizing what he was doing midmotion. Slowly, he withdrew his hand.

It’s just the . . . She searched for the word that wouldn’t come.

Acceleration? Velocity? Ascension? he offered.

She shook her head, desperately wishing he would step back more and give her some air.

It’s just the elevator, she finished weakly.

His posture relaxed. "Yes, I find them offensive myself. It’s one of the least evolved inventions to exist today. The modern elevator has been in use for over seven hundred years and yet it’s had few improvements. Talk about resting on your laurels."

She wasn’t sure what to say to this, so she said nothing. Obviously he was trying to cheer her up, but he seemed nervous. She saw it in the way he kept coming up onto the balls of his feet.

Was she making him nervous? Likely. She was the boss, and it was his first day.

When she heard his sharp intake of breath, she intervened. Why Heron?

He froze. In fact, he looked terrified, his wide eyes shining.

His reaction didn’t match her question, so she clarified the best she could. "Why did she name you Heron? Of all the birds?"

Oh, he said. Whatever he’d thought she meant by why was obviously worse than mild curiosity regarding the origin of a name. When the sea levels first rose, before we started to move inland and rebuild, a lot of the animals died—mammals, birds, fish—either through habitat loss, pollution, or starvation. But one of the birds that did best, despite the terrible conditions, was the heron. Do you know what herons look like?

Grace admitted that she did not.

They’ve got a spear-like beak and very long legs, both of which are pretty useful when fishing in high waters. They’re waders, which means they can walk out into deeper water in order to find their prey. They don’t mind heat, and they can migrate. And they do as well in the wild as in more cosmopolitan environments. They’re very resourceful birds that can survive just about anywhere.

Your mother has faith in your abilities.

He laughed. My mother is an optimist, yes.

Grace surveyed him with the corner of her eye. An expensive suit. A clean, handsome face. When he reached up to scratch his nose, she noted the individual signal booster ring fitted to his right hand. Something like that must have cost twice Grace’s salary. She suspected that like his avian namesake, he was surviving all right.

I don’t mind the name, he said. It was better than the alternative.

What was the alternative?

If I’d been female, she was going to name me Egret, he said with a grin. And, realizing she didn’t get the joke, added, It’s another wader. Snow-white feathers.

It occurred to her he might be evaluating her, measuring her as ruthlessly as she was him. Her profile must have been useless for this task. When he’d brushed her hand, he would have learned only Grace Helena Buteo, Commander, Zone 2.

Some profiles were ostentatiously detailed. Favorite music, favorite food, favorite stores, education history, marital status or partner affiliation, family or friend connections, gender expressions, languages spoken, political stances, group affiliations, and so on.

For Heron, anything he wanted to know about his commander, he would have to ask.

And what did he think of her?

Her stiff form. Her borderline inability to smile. The scars along her right temple and cheek. He must see the scars. It was her diminished right side that faced him.

What about your name? he asked. Did your mother want you to be a dancer or something?

Grace was her grandmother’s name, she said.

The elevator opened, and they were greeted by a scientist marching toward them. A small, dark woman with onyx eyes and open arms. For a terrifying moment, Grace thought she was going to be embraced, but instead, the scientist punctuated the exaggerated gesture by clapping her hands together.

Welcome, welcome. I’m Dr. Loba Cyrah, I would like to thank you for your service—

Please don’t.

—Commander Buteo. I’m so sorry for your loss.

The perfunctory Thank you was managed despite her tightening throat. Heron offered to brush hands with Dr. Cyrah, but Grace saw the scientist hesitate.

Only reluctantly did she finally offer her profile. Grace politely refused. There were many ways to access public profiles, and she’d reached her limit of physical contact for the day.

This way, if you please. Dr. Cyrah waved them toward the large glass chamber of the lab.

Grace caught Heron watching her with a strange expression she couldn’t quite place.

After you, he said and gestured toward Dr. Cyrah.

It’s my understanding that two dozen organs were stolen? Grace began.

The door opened for the scientist after she paused long enough to have her body scanned for clearance. She held the door so that Grace and Heron could follow her before the chamber sealed itself.

Twenty-six to be exact. Well, twenty-seven if you count each eye individually, she said. Eight kidneys, six livers, four hearts, three pancreases, three lungs, a thymus, and even a pair of eyes. What a monster they wish to make!

Grace smiled politely at the joke. And you’re certain the lab is bio-sealed.

Yes. Our system has never failed us. Because the organs are so fragile, you see, a reliable system is paramount to our success. Without it, we’d be out of business in a month. See for yourself.

The doctor led them down a long aisle with metal tables positioned on either side. Each rectangular slab was divided into eight equal-sized squares, and in the square quadrants lay clear sacks with colorless organs inside.

The tubes and fluids gave the organs a buoyancy. But to Grace, they looked like strange sea creatures. All jelly sacks and tentacles.

She suspected Heron knew what animal she was thinking of but didn’t want to ask him. No doubt his own mother would have had him learn every animal. And more about plants, light, wind, and water than she herself would ever know.

All the things I’ll never teach Kaiden.

Grace coughed to clear her constricting throat.

Dr. Cyrah rested her hand on the shining table, and its color changed. The entire surface was a sensor, Grace realized, monitoring the organs’ condition and progress through their sack-like membranes.

Dr. Cyrah licked her lips and said, "Fifty-eight employees watch these organs in lab fourteen day and night. Even when there are no human eyes on them, a hundred computers relentlessly record every temperature shift, drop in salinity, tissue deterioration, and so forth. Anything that could possibly change in these little environments is automatically corrected or reported to ensure that the organs are not compromised."

Yes, Heron said, nodding. Imagine what would happen if an organ was unavailable because of some lab malfunction. Angry customers don’t make for good business!

Dr. Cyrah glared at him.

Grace had seen the commercials while she recuperated in the hospital. They were horrible, actually. Viscosity seemed to revel in the weakness of the human body, reminding viewers that limbs, organs, or even eyes could be torn from their sockets at any time and what will you do if Viscosity isn’t there for you?

Choose Viscosity. Secure your future.

Fortunately, the organs taken were from storage. There are no active requests for any that were lost. Assuming our consumers remain healthy for the next sixty days, we remain confident that we can replace the organs before they are needed. We can replace and grow any biological tissue here. Your skin, for example.

Grace looked up and met the scientist’s dancing eyes. The woman reached out and traced the air above Grace’s right cheek, first up to her temple and then down her throat, continuing until she reached Grace’s navel. She was implying that burn covered her chest, her breast, and part of her stomach on that side.

It did. But how could she possibly know that?

Plasticity did your arm, didn’t they? Dr. Cyrah asked. She clicked her tongue as if she despised the name of the rival company.

Yes. She glanced down at the smooth, bare skin and realized it must be obvious that her arm was bionic. It was a perfect mirror replica of her left, but with all the scarring on this side of her body, no way her arm would be so unblemished.

The scarring on your face and neck looks to be third-degree burns, some fourth, am I right? We could regrow all of that and graft it right on. Several treatments under the Selsie light, and we could have you perfect again in eight or nine sessions.

Perfect. Nothing in her life would ever be perfect again.

I elected not to treat the scars, Grace said with a pointed stare.

Grace hadn’t wanted her wound erased. If she had to remember what happened every day of her life, why not the rest of the world? Besides, cosmetic work could only be done legally with the permission of the recipient.

The scientist squirmed. If it’s a matter of price, we can give you a steep discount. It would be excellent publicity for us, and we could even make you—

Grace’s blood pressure was rising again. She felt the heat in her face.

Is it true you grow headless specimens here? Heron asked. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, drawing the doctor’s eyes to him.

Dr. Cyrah looked rightfully offended by the question, her little stub of a nose turning up. "That was before my time. Besides, they had to be headless. People were concerned about the implication of full-bodied clones, even if they were kept in a coma state. It was considered unethical. So the heads and bodies were grown separately."

I don’t see how that’s possible given the way the neck, throat, and spinal column connect and—

They didn’t have— Dr. Cyrah’s mouth snapped shut. She looked ready to burst.

Is anyone missing? Grace asked, glad Heron had done a wonderful job of turning the conversation away from her scars. Grace gestured around the lab before pointing down the row of long tables, toward the other workers inspecting the equipment and sealed organs.

Only one, Dr. Cyrah said, tugging at the bottom of her lab coat, her cheeks still tinted pink. We have a technician, Ravee Kapur, who didn’t show up for his oh nine hundred shift this morning.

Can we get his address and contact information? Grace asked. She suspected that if the criminal was intelligent—and one must be to exit a bio-sealed building with twenty-six organs discreetly in tow—it would be best to show up for work the next day and answer all the questions as if nothing had happened.

For this reason, Grace expected to encounter their thief during the interviews, not hiding from the authorities. Of course, people did surprise her from time to time with their stupidity. For example, take the bomber who went after the precinct. Lix Richards had remained too close to the scene, not hiding himself at all.

We’d like a list of all persons permitted in this area, Heron said, rather haughtily.

Of course.

Something caught Grace’s eye. She moved toward the back of the lab, wandering past the glittering, clean tables and softly whirring tech equipment. She excused herself as she squeezed past busy workers and their blinking monitoring systems. Something kept clicking.

Click clack. Click clack.

On the wall was a large portrait of all the workers. Grace was able to spot Dr. Loba Cyrah on the far right, her smile bright, her shoulders pulled back in a picture-perfect pose.

She picked out a few of the other faces: two men and three women who were working the machines closest to her now. But most of the faces were strangers.

Dr. Cyrah stopped beside her. This was taken at the instructional seminar two Octobers ago.

Ah, yes, Heron said, coming around the tables to squint up at it. This is Dr. Hillinger’s method.

What is? Dr. Cyrah asked. Her irritation hadn’t left her voice completely. As smitten as the first-floor receptionist had been with the young inspector, it seemed Heron’s charms did not extend to Dr. Cyrah.

Strangely, that made Grace like Heron a little more.

Dr. Hillinger is a psychologist who proposed that a feeling of home could be created simply by seeing yourself in that place. It mimics a sense of belonging created in home environments, the primary place we see such photographs. Hillinger was the one who encouraged employee photos in workplaces to promote loyalty. Of course, this one is rather impersonal. Close-up and individual shots would be better. Especially photos with the employees doing something they love. Everyone in this photo looks hungry.

That’s ridiculous, Dr. Cyrah said. Science says it’s memories that create affection for a place.

"Dr. Hillinger wouldn’t disagree. Warm memories of a place do create affection, as does familiarity, but more important is seeing yourself."

Grace saw that Dr. Cyrah was on the verge of exploding into a counterargument.

Are these all the people who have access to this lab? she asked. Grace scanned the portrait, guessing how many faces she saw.

Actually, yes, Dr. Cyrah said.

And the man you mentioned? The missing technician?

Here is Ravee. Dr. Cyrah pointed to a tall man with thick black hair, eyes that were just a tad too close to one another, and a nose that stuck out rather long on his face. He was positioned at Dr. Cyrah’s right arm.

Grace opened her camera software and snapped three photos of the portrait.

I hate to say it— Dr. Cyrah began.

But you will anyway, Grace thought.

"—but it has to be Ravee who stole the organs. He is the only one who could have overridden the doors and removed the organs from the sensors without tripping the alarms we have in place."

He isn’t the only one, Heron countered. "He’s just the only missing one."

Grace wondered where Adams had found this man. His investigation methods were not at all standard. Where was he trained?

It was important to remain calm and assured in initial interviews. Absolutely no conflict of any kind was to be introduced. All behavior should encourage the flow of information, uninterrupted. Even if it was only lies pouring from someone’s mouth, it was still data that could be sifted and used, either for or against the evidence that would come later. Hindering data at this phase of the investigation severely limited their options. And conflict always hindered.

So why in the world was Heron baiting Dr. Cyrah?

Grace needed to resume control of the interview. Was Ravee familiar with the alarms used to monitor the condition of the organs?

Yes, and he knew that the slightest error would immediately trigger the alarm.

He must’ve expected an immediate response, she continued.

Oh yes. We are very prompt. Even minutes of incorrect incubation can cause tissue death, Dr. Cyrah said. Whoever took the organs had to know how to harvest them from the monitoring system and disable the alarms. Ravee serviced the computers himself. He could have done it easily.

What about the other lab workers? Heron asked. "Wouldn’t someone have seen him taking two dozen organs?"

The top of Dr. Cyrah’s ears glowed red. We think it happened during the shift change. There’s a five-minute window between second and third shift when the lab is empty. Ravee is usually the first one here.

And when does that changeover happen? Grace asked.

Just before midnight.

He looked ready to speak again but Grace shot him a look. Heron fell silent at once.

Thank you, Grace said, to both Dr. Cyrah and Heron. That’s all we need for now. We have more than enough to begin. We’ll be in touch.

She gave the portrait one last lingering look.

Four

On the sunny street outside Viscosity, Grace took a deep breath.

Heron stepped up beside her and did the same. Yes, there’s something suffocating about laboratories. They’re completely unnatural. My mother says science must be done out here.

He gestured at the wide boulevard divided by the second-level transport above and the whizzing white CityRides below. A second-level transport, looking like a large silver disk, flew by in the direction of the hospital.

She had no right to imply that you needed a new face. That was incredibly unprofessional. And incorrect. Your face is lovely.

She only wanted publicity for Viscosity.

He seemed to consider this. It was still horribly rude.

His anger surprised her. They’d just met. There was no reason for him to feel defensive on her behalf.

Grace squinted up at him on the sidewalk. Where did you do your training?

De la Hoya Academy.

Is Commander Huang still there in the barn? This was a deliberate test because there was no Commander Huang, nor was there a barn—at least none that she’d seen in her four years inside what the recruits called the Castle, a ruthless training facility in Zone 23.

Didn’t see a barn and never met a Commander Huang, Heron said simply. Loved Commander Zhou though. And Commanders Cross and Ramirez. Ramirez still has that tiny dog.

The Peekatease? Grace asked, recognizing all the names he’d just regurgitated to her.

It must be a hundred years old, he exaggerated with a warm smile. And blind in both eyes.

It had been blind in one eye when Grace had been at the Castle years ago. She was older than Heron. In fact, he was closer to Davion’s age than her own.

If he had done his training properly and at one of the best facilities in the country, then why did he unsettle her?

Her thoughts were interrupted by his beeping ring. He turned it over to review the scrolling inscription. This wasn’t the booster ring meant to amplify his PNS’s power. This one was made of a slightly darker metal. Grace tried to read the small inscription rolling along this glossy surface, but the glare from the sun made it impossible.

The UV rating has gone up. Do you have a SunGuard? he asked.

He meant the subcutaneous implant that had just hit the markets last summer. For a steep price, one could have automatic whole-body protection against excessive UV light and radiation.

Heron must’ve thought her far wealthier than she was. She could never indulge in the body mods that the younger generations seemed to favor now. Not without serious rebudgeting.

No. She pulled a pen from her pocket. She pointed the pen toward the ground, and it expanded, first doubling, then tripling in length. At last, a circle disc unfolded to its full size, revealing the sunbrella.

From beneath its shade, Grace saw that many people walked around unguarded. How much faster was the ring on Heron’s finger at detecting atmospheric shifts? Or was he wrong?

They’d managed half a block toward the nearest auto stop when she heard the familiar chirp, chirp, chirp of an Informed Citizen bulletin.

Everyone around her paused on the street at the same moment, preparing to have their lenscapes overrun by the zone’s network.

Dearest Citizens, please note that the UV rating for Zone 2 has risen from Orange-Elevated to Red-Risk. Please seek protection immediately. If you are seen without protection in any public area, you will be ticketed. Remember: Information is Liberation.

The bulletin dropped away until Grace saw only the sidewalk and the shine of her black shoes. The others around her resumed motion.

Are you usually the first to know something? Grace murmured, more to herself than to the inspector beside her.

I should think that’s a wonderful asset for you, he said with a tight-lipped smile. Considering that I’m at your disposal.

She caught the tone of disposal.

That’s twice that you’ve seemed offended at the idea of being my assistant. This isn’t servitude, Inspector. If you don’t want the position—

No, he said, too quickly. He pinched his eyes shut. I want it. You’ll have to forgive my sense of humor, Commander.

Grace didn’t believe for a moment that this was simply misunderstood humor. But she also didn’t have it in her to address compatibility issues today. She had been the one to ask for an assistant, and no matter who she’d received, she would have had to train them. He was as good as any. An assistant inspector was a perfect match for the smaller tasks she found tedious and exhausting.

I’ll figure the rest out later, she thought.

How would you like to proceed with the investigation, Commander? Any idea where we might find twenty-six organs? Heron’s reserve had returned.

She didn’t like his stiffness, but it was one more thing she’d have to let slide for now.

When I have more of myself to give, if I ever have more of myself to give, we’ll work on this.

I want to visit the technician’s home, she said, her eyes scanning the sidewalk ahead. A sea of people moved past, eyes down and lost to their internal lenscapes. Eyes glowed blue with the active light from their lenses. One man danced and bobbed to a rhythm only he could hear. We don’t have a search and seizure, but I suspect that maybe we won’t need one.

Why? Heron asked. Despite their difference in height, he was being careful to stay beside her as they walked.

On the elevator ride down, I looked up his address and information. He has a woman living with him, and they have a pending marriage application.

A fiancée? Heron asked with an air of gossip.

Hopefully we’ll catch her at home.

Another cacophony of beeps and chirps sounded, but Grace realized that it wasn’t another fancy gadget stowed away on Heron’s person. It was her calorie watch.

They both lifted and turned their calorie watches at the same moment. Hers was half torn at the strap. Its face was scratched from where her body, blown by the blast, had skidded along the concrete. It was no surprise to her that his was the latest model.

He smiled. Lunch first?

---

They chose a fusion bistro three blocks from Ravee’s apartment. Grace slid into the cool booth, and Heron mirrored her. They tapped their watches against the sensor plate affixed to the wall and waited for checkmark confirmation that all of their food preferences, allergies, tastes, and caloric needs were recorded.

Then the embedded menu in the tabletop lit up, and the screen before them changed, showing a variety of dishes the restaurant offered that would satisfy those needs and preferences.

Grace selected a dumpling soup first, and the menu suggested she add the leaf-wrapped veggies in order to better fulfill her fiber needs. She acquiesced.

Heron selected a cheeseburger and fried green tomatoes on the side. Then the menus disappeared and they were left to each other.

Do you know that meat used to come from animals? he said companionably, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. There were huge farms with thousands of acres where the animals were crammed in. So much land and water waste. It was horrible for the environment. Not to mention the slaughter—so not too good for the animals either. This was before the Land Conservation Act of 2380, of course.

Grace couldn’t imagine a world where land, so costly and precious now, would be so poorly managed. She supposed it helped that they had less than ten billion people living on the planet then, compared to the 32.3 billion they had now. Not to mention they had had thousands more acres of usable land, having been yet untouched by rising seas and storm surges.

Heron was still talking. "I don’t know how they ate it. Natural meat is absolutely filthy. Blood, shit, bacteria. Give me sterile lab-grown meat any day."

You’re full of information, Grace said, silently pulling up the photo she’d captured in the lab and surveying the faces again. She paid less attention to Ravee this time and more to the other Viscosity workers.

Yes, well, my mother was a history professor. If you didn’t hear forty historical facts at the dinner table, then you knew she was feeling rather morose that day. She was prone to it. Morosity. And spouting historical facts.

I didn’t know that Dr. Jane taught history.

Oh, she didn’t. I’m talking about Nora. Dr. Nora Avignon. I have two mothers.

Grace couldn’t really focus on what he was saying. Her eye kept snagging on the photo hanging in her lenscape. She counted again.

You have a look of consternation on your face, Commander. Can I ask what you’re looking at?

There are sixty people in this photo.

What photo?

I captured the photo from lab fourteen. Dr. Cyrah said fifty-eight people worked in the lab, but there are sixty people in this photo.

I’ve received the list of all the lab workers we requested.

Her mailbox pinged. Me too. Can you pair the faces with the names to see who’s on the list? I want to know who these two mystery people are.

Yes, yes, he said, and for the first time all day, since she’d seen him flirting with the receptionist in the lobby of Viscosity Inc., he seemed truly engaged in the task at hand. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Do you mind if I—

Go ahead, she said. She’d appreciate a moment to think to herself.

He sank into silence, his eyes slightly turned away from hers, using his lenscape to run the program as she asked. His eyes lit blue.

Grace took the chance to scan the restaurant. She noticed the people, bodies relaxed, and their soft conversations. Beyond that, the crowd walked back and forth past the bright window, sunbrellas up.

This wasn’t so bad because she had never eaten in this restaurant with Davion or Kaiden. There were no memories here to rise up suddenly and squeeze her heart like a fist.

She could experience the place with her melancholy and her loss, but also without the loving grief suffocating her.

I’ll have to abandon all our old haunts, she thought. At least for a while.

The Thai place in Low Town.

Pizza Palace on Forty-Second.

Kaiden’s favorite creamery two blocks from their neighborhood.

A memory surfaced of Kaiden rushing ahead on his hoverskates as she trailed behind, her hand in Davion’s. He was prattling on about something, but she didn’t remember what it was. Work maybe. She’d been distracted by an identity theft case, someone trying to forge visas. Davion had been trying to take her mind off of it.

At least she would still have her favorite restaurant, Sindu Serves. She’d eaten there mostly alone during the workday, and neither Davion nor Kaiden liked spicy food.

But there was something about this restaurant that unsettled her. She glanced around, wondering.

It was all the smiling.

No, it was also the calm.

That’s how it had been at the precinct that night. A lot of smiling. A blanket of calm.

Before the IED exploded and tore her life apart.

The winter parade had sent a storm of red and green streamers through the air. Sparks of light danced past the precinct’s pavilion. Grace had stood there with Davion’s arm draped around her shoulder and Kaiden leaning his weight against her front as the dancers weaved in and out of the marching band.

The holographic circus was next. From where she stood, she saw the sparkling elephants